Chapter 80
Chapter 80. Absence
2023.12.19.
It had been a long time since Edgar saw it.
That gaze turning brutally cold toward him. There was a time when he feared that look, which no longer caused him pain or anything else now. Those futile times when he craved attention, wanted recognition, and yearned for affection.
When his head grew thicker and he learned of his mother's shameful secrets, Edgar also came to despise his own mother.
His baseness resembled his mother's. That ugly blood flowed in his own body.
After that, Edgar withdrew his resentment toward his father. As a fellow man, he even felt some degree of sympathy.
He faced his father with an expressionless face.
From his pitch-black hair and overall bone structure down to the minute details of his facial features, there wasn't a single part that wasn't similar.
But apparently, it didn't seem that way in his father's eyes. Judging by the contemptuous look, as if facing his own wife.
"Take care of it."
But unfortunately, the current him was no longer afraid of that gaze.
"At an appropriate time."
The woman who was merely a pawn to be used and discarded.
"I will handle it appropriately at the right time."
Had now become someone he needed to protect. Before his father could lay a hand on her.
Edgar gave a brief bow and turned away without hesitation.
Duke Lancelot glared at Edgar's retreating back crossing the study with sunken, dark eyes.
"Let's have a meal together for the first time in a while."
The heavy footsteps stopped abruptly. Edgar slowly turned around.
The ploy was so obvious he couldn't even laugh. It had been that way since he received the untimely summons from the Duke early this morning.
"Is it about Anne Boleyn? Or His Royal Highness the Crown Prince?"
A subtle hostility swirled in his suppressed voice.
"Does a father need a reason to have a single meal with his child?"
"That's not how you raised me."
Edgar politely bowed his head and left the study.
"Perhaps you'd like some refreshments first?"
Edgar, walking briskly down the long corridor while putting on his gloves, answered the butler.
"No. I'm going right away."
After fastening the final button on the leather glove on his left hand, he glanced at his wristwatch.
He felt a derisive laugh at the futile attempt to hold him back.
"Please saddle up Darkstar."
"You're not taking the carriage?"
A flustered Gerald asked.
The current time was 9:45 AM. It was an hour and a half by carriage from the Duke's residence to Dumblin.
To make it to the final match starting at 10 AM, he had no choice but to ride a horse.
Even then, a miracle of arriving within 15 minutes wouldn't happen.
"Gerald, come by carriage."
"How can I do that? Please have my horse prepared as well."
The servant who received the order quickly outpaced them and disappeared. Edgar, who had slowed his pace momentarily, spoke in a whisper with a refreshing smile.
"The route. Make sure of it."
Gerald, who had been grumbling about the sudden situation of having to ride to Dumblin, froze with that exact expression.
He must have realized his role as a spy long ago, but this was the first time he had so openly revealed his cards like today.
"My apologies, Young Master. Making a living is just this difficult. Hehe."
An embarrassed Gerald tried to cover it up with a forced laugh while gauging the situation. Fortunately, there was no further interrogation.
By the time they descended the front staircase, servants holding horse reins were waiting.
Edgar gently stroked Darkstar's nose bridge.
His beloved horse, somewhat more sensitive than others, pawed the ground as its master's hand touched it.
"Shall we show what you can do?"
The horse, excited to run after a long time, shook its head as if telling him to trust it. Its jet-black mane rippled with the motion.
Edgar, who had been stroking Darkstar's nose bridge, swiftly leaped into the saddle. Gerald also mounted his horse.
The black horse Edgar rode neighed and repeatedly pawed the ground, as if eager to run.
Edgar gave a slight nod to the bowing butler and servants, then immediately spurred the horse and pulled the reins.
In the distance, the massive iron main gate was slowly opening.
The black horse, its coat gleaming in the morning sunlight, began racing toward Dumblin, cutting through the wind.
\\
Following the tradition of the Dumblin tournament, the Crown Prince and his consort visited the center court where the final match was being held.
As the Crown Prince and his consort appeared, the people filling the spectator stands rose simultaneously to show their respect.
From the press box, camera flashes erupted noisily, and hazy smoke rose into the sky.
Alex and Louise, dressed in white suits and dresses according to tournament regulations, waved lightly to the spectators and took their seats.
"How are your knees?"
Alex greeted Henry McDowell, a royal relative sitting in the adjacent seat, with polite concern.
"An old man's knees are what they are. It's late, but congratulations to both Your Highnesses."
After that, trivial everyday conversations were exchanged. Talk mainly centered around the Crown Prince's heir due to be born next year.
Unlike the Kingdom of Rondos, in Brit where the Salic law prohibiting female succession to the throne was still alive, whether it would be a prince or a princess was a matter of utmost interest.
"By the way, what's with the young Marquess?"
Henry occasionally glanced toward the passage connecting to the VIP section and checked his pocket watch.
It was 10 minutes before the match start, but his seat remained empty.
Since he always sat down before Henry after dropping Olivia off at the players' waiting room, his absence was starting to become noticeable.
And it was the final, no less.
Alex's gaze darkened as he followed Henry's stare toward Edgar's designated seat.
'I hope he doesn't catch my sister's eye.'
It wasn't anything particularly illegal.
He had merely requested Duke Lancelot to briefly delay Edgar's arrival at the stadium.
Alex slowly scanned the spectator stands filled with over fifteen thousand people.
Recalling the past when the stadiums were completely empty, it truly felt like a miracle.
Olivia Blanchett, who had been the center of constant controversy throughout the tournament, had, as Edgar predicted, swept away the dark ages of women's tennis.
The fact that the entity leading that dark age was his own sister left a bitter taste.
"Look, he's coming out."
At someone's exclamation, the buzzing inside the stadium momentarily fell silent.
All eyes focused on the players' exclusive gate below the spectator stands, past the grass court bathed in the white summer sunlight.
Bang! The sound of an impatient photographer's flash went off first.
Startled by the sound, other cameras successively erupted with light.
Through those silver flashes, Princess Anne Boleyn and Olivia appeared, dressed in pure white tennis outfits.
Cheers and applause spread across the clear sky. Below the scattered feathery clouds, the Ad Balloons shaped like Dumblin's symbol—crossed tennis rackets and a laurel wreath crown—floated peacefully.
"The world is truly shameless."
"I wonder if his relationship with Marquess Lancelot soured because of this recent ghost scandal?"
The noblewomen glaring at Olivia also glanced at the still-empty seat. The Marquess had not yet arrived.
"He must have lost interest. To be two-timing with her ex-husband. It's terrifying that she's a fellow woman."
"I believe Her Highness the Princess will thoroughly crush that woman today. To make her come to her senses."
The lips of the noblewomen exchanging such words soared sky-high from behind their fans. Carol, who had been humiliated previously, was among them.
Olivia was overwhelmed by the scale of the center court.
She stood still for a moment, steadying her breathing.
Exhaling her now-calm breath, Olivia's gaze sought the VIP section. Fortunately, the VIP section with its high-quality wooden railings was quickly spotted.
"……."
The figure of the man with unmistakably jet-black hair, visible at a glance even from afar, was nowhere to be seen.
"Are you alright? You don't look well."
Princess Anne Boleyn, passing by Olivia's side, wore an elegant smile.
The small-pearl-encrusted headband atop her tightly pulled-up hair shone with a noble luster in the sunlight.
A foreboding feeling arose.
'I'll come pick you up. Sleep well.'
He was a man who kept his promises.
He was also the kind of person who never said words he couldn't keep. Her heart suddenly beat anxiously.
Surely, it couldn't be... but...
Could they have done something to him? She shook her head vigorously, dismissing the thought.
'No matter if she's the Princess, she wouldn't dare treat the House of Lancelot recklessly.'
Olivia forcibly composed herself.
The match hadn't even started yet. She couldn't let her focus waver so early.
She needed to concentrate.
Having steadied her mind, Olivia followed the walking Anne Boleyn toward the VIP section.
Out of habit, she looked around. It was possible he was sitting elsewhere.
But unlike previous stadiums, the center court was so vast that people's facial features weren't clearly distinguishable.
Focus, Olivia.
\\
Emerging from the path through the densely bushy woods, an endless expanse of wheat fields created green waves under the sunlight.
Edgar raised his left hand holding the reins and checked his wristwatch. 10:00 AM.
Damn it.
Edgar tightly gripped the reins, pulled them back forcefully, and spurred the horse with a shout.
Darkstar raced across the field as if competing with a train that sounded its long whistle as it appeared.
"Young Master!!!"
An overwhelmed Gerald shouted.
Since we're already late, let's just go slowly.
Edgar controlled the horse with the perfect posture of an equestrian athlete.
Darkstar charged toward the train like a mad horse with its tail on fire.
Gerald, chasing Darkstar's rear, clicked his tongue, then coughed as he was engulfed in a cloud of dust.
Whether it was because the horse was exceptionally fine, or because the brown mare Gerald rode was also a breed not to be underestimated, the distance just wouldn't close.
Edgar nervously clenched the reins. Today, the distance from Southfield to Dumblin felt impossibly long.
'I'll come pick you up. Sleep well.'
She would have opened the front door expecting him. Edgar pictured the woman's face, likely disappointed.
A desire for her to compete calmly without disturbance, and a petty, contradictory wish for her to be slightly shaken by his absence, strangely intersected within him.
Is she winning? Or is she making mistakes?
His narrowed eyes fixed solely ahead as he rode at full speed.
